“No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were;
any man’s death diminishes me, because
I am involved in Mankind.And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls: it tolls for thee.”

– John Donne.

In these days of endgame this is not politics any more, this is people, cross-Border relationships, fishing friends crossing and recrossing a border several times a year, over time, over decades, with no sea, no natural division.

It is siblings voting yay and nay, husbands and wives too. The elderly, and seventeen-year-olds.

They are voting differently: and they are split roughly down the middle.

The poet Donne’s words ripple and pulse down through time with the truth and stature that gives the power to thrill the Facebook-jaded yeomanry of the internet age.